In the autumn of 1962, Regulus was one and a half years old, while Sirius had just turned three.
The nursery clearly reflected the personalities of the two brothers.
Sirius's side of the room was a complete disaster. Pieces of a toy broomstick lay scattered across the floor, along with a few magical spinning tops that occasionally snapped their tiny teeth together. A box of intricate metal puzzles crafted by Goblins had been overturned, its contents spread across the rug like fallen stars.
Regulus's corner, however, was the exact opposite.
Everything there remained neat and orderly. A small stack of picture books rested beside a dark blue rug, and a stuffed Kneazle toy sat quietly in the corner. The toy had once been able to move and purr softly, but Sirius had accidentally broken it some time ago.
That afternoon, Kreacher stood by the tall windows, cleaning the glass with careful waves of magic. Though he appeared focused on his task, his large ears twitched constantly as he listened to the movements of the two young masters. His eyes occasionally flicked toward them from the corner of his vision.
Sirius had just returned from Orion's study.
In his hands was a small pocket broomstick—a miniature replica of a real wizard's broom. It was not meant for flying, but rather for teaching children the principles behind the Flight Charm.
"Watch closely, Regulus!" Sirius shouted proudly, desperate to gain his brother's attention. "This is a broomstick! A real wizard's broomstick! I can make it float!"
He placed the tiny broom carefully onto the rug and stepped back two small paces. Taking a deep breath, he lifted both hands, his face gradually turning red with effort.
"Up!" he shouted, making an exaggerated lifting motion with his arms.
The broomstick trembled slightly.
One end lifted perhaps five degrees into the air before dropping back down onto the rug.
Sirius frowned.
"Up! Up!"
He tried again, putting even more force into the command.
This time the broomstick rolled halfway onto its side, wobbling uncertainly before collapsing back to the ground.
Kreacher quietly held his breath.
The house-elf knew the truth about that broomstick.
A Restriction Curse had been placed upon it. The object would only respond to someone who understood a key principle of the Levitation Charm: the ability to imagine weight disappearing.
This was no ordinary toy.
It was a test.
Orion Black had deliberately placed it in his study, fully aware that Sirius would eventually sneak in and take it. In fact, that was precisely what he intended.
But Sirius clearly did not understand the concept yet.
"Why won't it work?" Sirius grumbled irritably, kicking the rug in frustration. "Father can make it fly!"
Regulus finally moved.
Until now he had simply been sitting quietly, observing.
He crawled across the rug with surprising speed, then walked over to the broomstick and sat down beside it with a soft plop.
Sirius glanced at him and curled his lip slightly.
"You want to try too?" he said dismissively. "You can't even talk yet."
Regulus ignored him.
Instead, he slowly extended his right index finger and hovered it just above the broomstick.
For a moment, nothing happened.
Then he gently tapped downward.
The broomstick rose.
It floated slowly upward, steady and smooth, as though lifted by invisible hands. When it reached Regulus's eye level, it stopped and remained perfectly still in the air.
Sirius's mouth dropped open.
Behind them, the cleaning rag Kreacher had been controlling slipped from his magical grasp and fell silently to the floor.
Regulus pressed his finger down again.
The broomstick descended just as slowly, returning to its original position on the rug. It landed exactly where it had started, not even a hair's breadth off.
Sirius stared at him in disbelief.
"You... how did you...?"
His voice trailed off. His young mind struggled to comprehend what he had just seen.
Why could his younger brother do something he could not?
Regulus turned his head toward him.
Then, in a soft but clear childish voice, he spoke his very first complete sentence.
"Think, then do."
Sirius blinked.
"Think what?" he asked instinctively.
Regulus pointed at the broomstick.
"Think it is light."
"Don't think it is heavy."
"But it is heavy!" Sirius protested immediately.
"Think it is not heavy."
Sirius frowned in confusion.
"How is that possible?"
Regulus tilted his head slightly, as though considering how to explain such an abstract concept to someone so young.
After a moment, he patted the rug beside him.
"Sit."
For some reason Sirius obeyed immediately, sitting down cross-legged without questioning why his brother could suddenly speak so clearly.
Regulus picked up a small leaf that had drifted in through the open window.
He placed it in his palm.
"It is light," Regulus said.
Sirius nodded.
"Right."
Regulus continued.
"Think it is heavy."
Sirius stared at the leaf in concentration, trying his best to imagine that it weighed as much as a stone.
But something felt wrong.
"No," Regulus said calmly, as if he could read Sirius's thoughts. "Not thinking it is as heavy as something else."
He lifted the leaf slightly.
"It is forgetting that it is light."
"Then it is heavy."
Sirius scratched his head.
His face twisted with confusion.
The concept was far too abstract for a three-year-old. He had never thought about objects this way before.
Regulus slowly stood up, wobbling slightly on his small legs.
Without another word, he walked back to his quiet corner of the nursery.
He had already finished his explanation.
But the realization he described was still far too advanced for someone Sirius's age.
Regulus was different.
For him, understanding and perception had never been limited by age.
After dinner that evening, Orion summoned Kreacher to his study.
The room was quiet and dimly lit.
Orion sat behind his large desk, his fingers lightly tapping the polished wood.
"That teaching broomstick," he said slowly, knitting his brows together. "Regulus made it levitate?"
"Yes… yes, Master," Kreacher replied nervously, twisting his tea towel in his thin fingers. "Young Master Regulus made it fly. One foot high. Very steady."
Orion's gaze sharpened.
"He spoke?"
"He said a few words," Kreacher replied.
The house-elf repeated the exact conversation between Regulus and Sirius.
After hearing it all, Orion remained silent for a long time.
Around the room, the portraits of Black family ancestors pretended to look elsewhere, but their ears were unmistakably attentive.
Finally, Orion spoke again.
"From now on," he said calmly, "whatever Regulus wishes to do—so long as it is not dangerous—allow him to do it."
Kreacher bowed deeply.
"But watch him carefully. Record everything. Report to me every day before dinner."
"Yes, Master!"
December 1963.
Number 12, Grimmauld Place was preparing for Christmas.
Sirius Black had just passed his fourth birthday, and at this age he felt absolutely certain that he was the center of the universe.
He stood proudly in the middle of the drawing room with his hands on his hips.
"I'm going to make the bells on the tree ring by themselves!" he declared loudly to the half-decorated Christmas tree.
From the second floor balcony, Walburga Black leaned over the railing.
"Sirius, do not cause trouble," she said sharply.
"Kreacher, hang the silver baubles higher. They were too low last year. Andromeda nearly hit her head on them."
"Yes, Mistress."
Kreacher extended his thin fingers, guiding the floating ornaments higher with careful magic.
Meanwhile, Regulus sat quietly beside the fireplace.
He rested on the thick rug, reading silently, as motionless as a decorative plant.
Inside that small body was a soul from another world.
For three years now, he had accepted the truth.
This was a magical world.
And he had been reborn as Regulus Black—the tragic character who, in the original story, would die young.
But Regulus had no intention of repeating that fate.
His ambitions were far greater.
The stars. The universe. Magical realms beyond anything mentioned in the original story.
As for Sirius…
Regulus barely spared the thought.
Let him be.
After all, Sirius would one day become a hero—an ally in the fight against Lord Voldemort.
As long as Regulus remained alive, the immense wealth and influence of the House of Black would serve as his stepping stone.
There was no need to compete with a four-year-old child.
"Regulus! Watch closely!"
Sirius's excited voice pulled him out of his thoughts.
Sirius stood facing the Christmas tree, staring intently at a golden bell hanging near the top.
Once again his small face turned red as he concentrated.
He stretched out his hands dramatically.
Magic began to surge.
"Move!" Sirius shouted.
Regulus's perception of magic was unusually sharp—almost like possessing an additional sense.
He could clearly feel Sirius's magic gathering.
And it was unstable.
Very unstable.
Bang!
The entire Christmas tree suddenly began shaking violently.
The star ornament at the top fell off, striking Kreacher squarely on the head.
Candy canes knocked against each other. Glass baubles clinked together loudly.
A string of enchanted lights near the top of the tree suddenly began flashing wildly, changing colors at an absurd speed—like a magical seizure.
"Stop! Stop!" Walburga shouted as she rushed down the stairs.
But it was already too late.
Sirius had frightened himself.
He tried desperately to stop the magic—but he couldn't.
Panic filled his young face as he waved his arms helplessly, which only caused the magical output to grow even more unstable.
Boom!
The three tall windows along the east wall shattered simultaneously.
Glass fragments exploded outward.
Fortunately, a Protection Charm slowed the shards to a halt in midair, preventing them from flying into the street outside.
The chandelier swung wildly from the ceiling.
Crystal pendants clashed together with a piercing, chaotic noise.
"Ah!"
The portraits of the Black ancestors screamed together in outrage.
Phineas Nigellus shouted the loudest.
"Barbarians! The Blacks have truly fallen!"
Walburga raised her wand swiftly.
A powerful Calming Charm struck Sirius.
The boy stumbled backward and dropped onto the rug with a thud, staring blankly at his hands.
Walburga's expression shifted strangely.
First anger.
Then something that looked very much like pride.
"The magic is abundant," she said thoughtfully.
"But the direction was wrong."
She gestured dismissively toward the shattered windows.
"Next time, aim at something useless—like those ugly vases your father insists on collecting."
Sirius blinked in surprise.
He had expected a harsh scolding.
Regulus quietly closed his book.
This was the problem with wizard children, he thought.
Their magic responded directly to emotions.
Without control, it was like a pressure cooker with no safety valve—ready to explode at any moment.
Kreacher began cleaning up the mess silently.
Walburga gave Sirius a long, complicated look before turning and walking back upstairs.
Sirius sat on the rug, staring at his hands.
Then at the broken windows.
Finally, he looked at Regulus.
"I did it," he whispered.
Regulus nodded calmly.
"Impressive."